ard the steady ticking of the clock
on the chimney-piece behind him. He counted the strokes, and all of a
sudden they recalled him to the present. He pulled himself together,
stood up, and, reaching down a clothes-brush from its hook beside the
door, walked over to the chimney-piece and to a small mirror that stood
behind the clock.

"Old enough to be her father." Again, as he caught sight of his face in
the glass the smart revived; but again he expressed it, and fell to
brushing his worn tunic with extreme care. It had always been his
practice to dress punctiliously before going into action, even on dark
nights in front of Sevastopol, where all niceties of dress were lost at
once in the slush of the trenches. His forage-cap received almost as
careful a brushing as his tunic: and from his cap he turned his
attention to the knees of his trousers and to his boots, one of which
was cracked, albeit not noticeably. He had half a mind to black its
edges over with pen and ink, but refrained. Somehow it suggested
imposture, and to-day he winced sensitively away from the first hint of
imposture. He must walk down-hill delicately, like Agag. To-morrow
Harvey, the Garland Town cobbler, would repair the damage with a couple
of stitches, at the cost of one penny: and the Commandant reflected
with a melancholy smile that he possessed precisely that sum.

His toilet complete, he took a last look in the mirror to assure
himself that his face betrayed none of the anxiety eating at his heart.
It was paler than ordinary, but calm. He drew a long breath, and walked
out to the front door. At his feet the chimneys of the small town sent
up their mid-day smoke; beyond, the Atlantic twinkled with its
innumerable smile. The hour was come. As he stepped out upon the road
he cast a glance to right and left along his deserted batteries, and
answered the smile of Ocean whimsically, ruefully. If only, as an
artilleryman, he could have summoned Mr. Fossell's Bank by a dropping
shot! This business of hand-to-hand assault belonged by rights to
another branch of the service.

Mr. Fossell stood behind the counter in conference with a junior clerk,
and the sunshine pouring through the windows--the only plate-glass
windows in Garland Town--gilded the dome of Mr. Fossell's bald head. As
the Commandant entered, Mr. Fossell looked up and nodded pleasantly, in
a neighbourly way, albeit with a touch of ironical interrogation. He
had heard gossip from his fri